


Accompaniment

by luvkurai



Series: University-verse [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is a manipulative stalker and Will is too innocent to notice, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you be interested in joining me for dinner this evening?"</p><p>Date Night.</p><p>Sequel to House Music, Nightcap and Home Visit</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accompaniment

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being longer than the other parts... I hope that makes up for the wait.

Hannibal does not call Saturday night. He does not call Sunday. He does not call Monday, or Tuesday. By Wednesday, Will has given up hope in his typical mode of self-deprecation.

Why should Hannibal bother spending time on him?

Will often thinks about the man’s large home, with unused bedroom. He thinks about the fact that he has money to spare and likely no limit of candidates to spend it and his efforts on.

It isn’t that Will’s attracted to his money, or even the fact that Hannibal seemed legitimately interested in spending time with him. He would never even begin to sink that low. It might be the aura the man gives off (pure, carnal sex appeal that leaves Will’s mouth dripping whenever he thinks of it), but even that doesn’t seem to cover the feelings, whatever they are, he has towards Hannibal.

The truth of the matter is that, in the small amount of time they spent together, Will felt that they _clicked._ It isn’t a feeling he experiences often, the first time intending more than platonic friendship. He is sorely disappointed that he apparently failed to inspire the same sentiments in the other man.

Wednesday evening, he and Beverly are the only ones in the kitchen. She’s drinking, but he’s planning on getting more work done once she passes out on the couch. In the meantime, he entertains himself listening to her babble about how some guy in her forensics lab refuses to leave her alone.

She roll her eyes and says, “ _Men,_ am I right?” just as Will’s phone rings in his pocket. The number is blocked when he checks caller I.D.

He knows he shouldn’t be too hopeful, but he can’t help it, as he rushes from the kitchen and answers.

“H-hello?” His stutter makes him consider defenestration a viable option.

“ _Good evening, William_.” He opens his mouth to speak, but only dead air comes out. Hannibal continues, “ _I apologize for not contacting you before now. I have been unmanageably busy._ ”

Will finds his voice, “Oh, no, it’s alright.” He tries to sound suave, unbothered— _yeah, well I’ve been busy too—_ and fails terribly. Not that Hannibal would believe it, anyways.

“Who is it?” Bev yells from the kitchen. He waves a hand through the doorway to shut her up.

“ _How has your week been?”_

“Just…fine.”

“ _I am glad to hear it,”_ he replies. Then, without missing a beat asks, _“Would you be interested in joining me for dinner this evening?_ ”

This takes Will aback. It’s nearly nine in the evening, and though Will has yet to eat it is a bit of late notice. Especially since it would probably be ten before Hannibal arrived.

“Tonight?” The silence that comes from Hannibal’s end serves as confirmation. He should probably refuse, it’s a Wednesday night and he has classes tomorrow.

But _fuck_ , he wants to see Hannibal. He’s wanted to since the man left him napping on Saturday morning.

“A-alright,” he says meekly into the phone. “When should I be ready by?”

“ _As soon as possible. I’ve parked below your apartment.”_

“Wait, you’re _here?_ ” The question comes out before he can stop himself. He dives into Beverly’s room (the only room of the bunch that has a window facing the street) and presses his head up against the glass.

Sure enough, there’s Hannibal, leaning against the hood of his car, with his phone pressed to his ear. Almost as soon as Will catches sight of him Hannibal glances up. Offers Will a smile and a half-wave.

“ _I do hope I am not being too forward.”_

“No,” Will assures him, stepping away from the window so he can rub a hand over his face without Hannibal seeing. It’s not that Hannibal’s actions worry him (although they probably should), it’s just that they are in such sharp contrast to him not contacting Will for half a week. “No, I’m just a bit surprised. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“ _Ah, good, then I shall await your arrival, dear Will.”_

 _Oh._ The way the man says ‘dear Will’ is seductive, even when garbled by the speaker on Will’s phone. Will forces himself to hang up before he moans into the phone. He knows he’s being ridiculous, that he needs to calm down.

It takes about a minute and a half for him to go to put shoes on and get out the door without being accosted by Beverly. He cringes at the sound of her yelling to Alana (and half the building) that, “William has a _hot date_!”

By the time he gets down the stairs and out to Hannibal, he’s quite a bit anxious.

Almost instantly, Hannibal takes his wrist and pulls him into his chest for a kiss. A light hum fills the air as his lips brush down against his shoulder. Will wonders if he’s being scented again. The idea really doesn’t bother him.

He grins up at the man and words tumble from his lips before he can control them.

“I thought you weren’t going to call.” Possibly too wanton, but it’s too late now. Regardless, Hannibal seems a bit charmed by Will’s tiny confession, offering up an apologetic smile freely. Before he can vocalize this, Will speaks up, “Where are we going?”

“A restaurant on the other side of the university campus,” Hannibal says. He pulls away from Will and circles to the driver’s side. “It should only take fifteen minutes to drive there.”

“Cool,” Will replies, a bit lamely.

“Do you like French food?”

“Haven’t really had it.”

“Ah, then I shall delight in introducing you to it,” he says sincerely, without even the slightest bit of judgment at Will’s utter lack of culture. Though, he probably isn’t surprised.

The drive goes by quickly, with them exchanging chatter about the weather and a few recent events. When they pull up outside the restaurant Will is assaulted by stone pillars and large looming glass windows. Inside, everyone is dressed in the finest of suits and dresses and when he glances up the street he sees designer brands that even _he_ couldn’t be oblivious to. Will is severely underdressed. His shirt, black, is auspiciously one of the nicer items he owns, but paired with jeans it lacks any claim to formality. Will hesitates, a noise of uncertainty breaking free from his lips before he can silence it.

“Is there a problem with the restaurant choice?” Hannibal asks.

“N-no, it’s just…I’m not really dressed for this type of place.” Why didn’t Hannibal send him back upstairs to change clothes?It may have been a _bit_ rude, but it would have been better than _this._ He feels like an idiot, should have figured it out on his own. Hannibal is dressed to the nines (donned in a blueish-gray three-piece suit and a paisley tie).

“I am a regular, so I doubt they will raise issue.” The response isn’t a denial of Will’s worries, but somehow it is more comforting than the alternative lie.

The valet takes the car and the two of them step into the restaurant. Hannibal walks through the crowd and places his palms on the front desk; the hostess immediately is called to attention.

“Dr. Lecter! You have a reservation, I believe?”

“Yes, for two. I believe I asked for a table beside the window.” Will stops himself from scrunching up his nose. Unless Hannibal called the restaurant in the time it took for Will to get downstairs to meet him and successfully booked a table (given the size of the crowd, that seems unlikely), he made the reservation before actually extending the invitation for dinner.

“Yes, of course. Your table is ready, please follow me.” As the blond steps around the hostess’ counter she gives Will a onceover that could not be interpreted as anything other than disdain. Apparently frumpy college students don’t frequent the restaurant. Unsurprising.

At the table it takes three seconds flat for a waiter to appear at the table with a bottle of sparkling water and a hopeful, expectant gaze as he asks for their drink orders.

“The _Malbec_ , I think,” Hannibal says to the waiter without sparing the menu so much as a glance.

“I’ll bring that for you, sir… Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

“The _charcuterie_ , please.” The waiter gives a half bow (the action leaves a bad taste in Will’s mouth) as he backs away from their table. Will receives Hannibal’s full attention once more. Finds himself practically melting beneath the sharp gaze.

“This wine was fermented in Argentina. Unlike most grapes, it thrives at higher altitudes.” The wine arrives and Hannibal pauses to taste, giving the bartender a nod to pour Will a glass. In addition a large wooden block adorned with meats, cheeses and varying amounts of salad and pickled vegetables.

Hannibal continues, “The scent reminds many of coffee, but personally I smell rich cocoa. The taste, on the other hand, is indisputably berry-like.”

“How do you know so much about wine?” Will asks, a half-assed attempt to keep the conversation going. His date knows this, he must, but he takes the bait anyways.

“Hmm, it stems organically from a knowledge of food, I suppose. For example—“ Will is taken by surprise when Hannibal reaches across the table to pluck the wine glass from his hand before he can drink. “Take a bite of the _foie gras_.”

Will obeys, correctly guessing that Hannibal is referring to the tan cube topped with tiny, red berries in the center of the plate. He’s never had it before, but is pretty sure it’s liver. And…he can’t say he enjoys it. The flavor is a bit pungent, and texture doing nothing to aid in the experience.

He looks up at Hannibal and isn’t sure what to say, but Hannibal simply hands him back the glass so he can drink. After drinking he takes another bite of _foie gras_ and is taken back. The bitter-sweetness of the wine leftover on his tongue brings out the more subtle honeyed taste of the liver, not noticeable unless paired with the wine.

“It’s delicious,” he says, not bothering to keep the awe out of his voice.

“Yes. A good chef understands what flavors are well-paired with particular wines. An accompaniment can make or break a dish.”

“Are there classes you take to learn that or…?”

“There are, but I have not taken any formal ones. I prefer the trial-and-error method. As you know, cooking is but a mere pastime.” The way Hannibal is speaking, it sounds as if he is enjoying a private joke, a metaphor or double-meaning that Will can’t comprehend. He quirks an eyebrow and gets only a half-smile in return.

“But, enough about me, I think.” Will doesn’t raise the objection that this is the longest they’ve talked about something other than him by a long-shot, or the fact that they weren’t really talking about _Hannibal_ , but the wine. But the man is more than capable of steering the conversation. “Your analysis of the Chesapeake Ripper that you mentioned briefly on Saturday was very interesting.”

Will takes a drink of wine, pleased that they’ve moved to a topic that he can fluently participate in. “Oh—thanks, I suppose. I’ve been working on it for a while, but I don’t really feel like I’ve made a dent in who this guy is…”

“I disagree. I must admit: I try to read as many articles on this sort of topic, quite a few about this particular killer. None of them seemed as invested as you do.”

 _Invested._ An interesting word to use, but apt, nonetheless. The truth is that Will has been slowly sinking into a rut. The more he thinks about the Ripper, the harder it is to stop. He’s read everything there is to read, but that isn’t enough. One of his professors got him access to the case files and he spends days pouring over each one.

He’s suffered from night terrors since childhood, but they have intensified, horrifically, since he started getting to know the Ripper. In addition, he’s finding it difficult to take care of himself. Remembering to eat, bathe, and get to sleep at a reasonable hour pose a new sort of challenge for him.

Hannibal says something, but he isn’t listening. “Sorry, what?”

“I just asked if I have somehow missed some vital information, or if you have come up with everything on your own?”

“Um, well, I’ve read pretty much everything there is to read, but to be honest the gaps take up more space than the actual material. Most of my dissertation will be my own theories.”

Will says theories, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s as sure about his conceptions of the Ripper as he is of his own presence at the table with Hannibal. Some may disagree with him, but he feels it in his _gut_ that he is right.

“How do you come up with these sort of _theories_?” The way he says ‘theories’ tells Will that Hannibal has as much faith in them as he himself does. “I don’t mean to pry, you likely do not wish to discuss your work when you are meant to be relaxing, but it is quite thought-provoking. You are very intelligent.”

It takes a significant amount of effort to keep the pride out of his face. The feeling goes back to when he caught Hannibal checking him out, but it is far more powerful with the knowledge that the doctor is an educated man, respected in his field. To have him acknowledge Will’s intelligence is no small feat.

“Thank you—and it’s fine, really.” He pauses to gage how to respond to the question. He doesn’t want to freak Hannibal out. “It’s sort of a process, I guess. A lot of time spent _thinking_ , imagining what was done and why.”

Hannibal isn’t buying it, desires a more detailed explanation, but he backs off easily enough. The conversation turns to Will’s other schoolwork, then back to Hannibal—a vague description of the afflictions of some of his more interesting patients.

At the end of the meal, Will considers moving to pay for his share of the bill, but after giving it a second thought he doesn’t think Hannibal will be pleased. Also, he knows he can’t afford the meal, looking at the cost would just make him anxious.

Instead, he smiles across the table at Hannibal, making eye contact and saying, “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. Really.”

“You are quite welcome.”

 

They don’t go to Hannibal’s home, as Will hoped. Instead, Hannibal drives back towards the university, parking about halfway down the block from the entrance to Will’s building.

“Do you…want to come up?” Will asks. The memory of the last time burns at the inside of his skull and he feels hot blood flood his cheeks. It is perhaps too obvious, because Hannibal smiles at him.

“Not this time, I think.”

Will instantly feels himself deflate. It’s late, they really both should be in bed, but he had hoped for something _more_ , as much as he enjoyed the evening with Hannibal. He wonders if he should ask for Hannibal’s phone number now, or perhaps the man still wishes to keep control.

He’s opening his mouth to ask when Hannibal unbuckles both of their seatbelts and leans into him. When their lips touch Will can’t help but gasp. It isn’t like he remembers; it’s better. Hannibal kisses the corner of his mouth and Will looks at him with lidded eyes, considering making an attempt at dragging him up to his bedroom. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, but he wants desperately to touch the other man, to feel him. Inside.

He presses into the kiss, taking hold of the collar of Hannibal’s shirt with a ferocity that he honestly didn’t know he had in him. He just _wants._

“Come here…”

A palm circles his waist to cup the back of his hip. At first the touch is light, but then it strengthens as Hannibal maneuvers him swiftly over the stick shift. Will has to grip onto anything and everything in the car to follow onto Hannibal’s lap. Straddling him.

For a second, they just look at each other, as they are. Will still in his less-than-acceptable attire and Hannibal in his silk and linen and wool. Then Will grips the beautifully stitched tie and pulls him into another kiss.

Hannibal’s hands instantly fly to work at his belt buckle, tugging the leather through the loops before moving on to Will’s.

“I want you to ride me, William.”

“I…I don’t think I,” Will pants. The idea of riding Hannibal alone makes him panic, trying it in the tight space of the car just seems impossible. “Can’t we—go upstairs?”

Hannibal shakes his head fractionally, leans forward so Will’s lower back digs more painfully into the steering wheel. “Here.”

Will shudders. “I don’t think I can, I’ve never—“ He cuts himself off halfway through saying that he’s never done this before. Hannibal _knows_ that he hasn’t, knows Will was a virgin until last week. Will feels a bit panicked, at the prospect of forcing himself down on Hannibal’s cock, let alone in a public place. This feels very much illegal.

But Hannibal places a hand against his collarbone, letting long fingers trail tips across Will’s jaw and over his lips. Comforting. “I will help you. You can do this.”

It’s ridiculous, that reassurance for something _like this_ could make Will feel so…good.

Hannibal pulls a condom out of nowhere and folds it into Will’s hand. “I would prefer not to ruin the upholstery of my car once we are done.”  
It takes Will a second to understand the meaning of this. A lewd image of Hannibal’s seed dripping out of Will’s ass onto the leather interior fills his mind. Sends a shot of arousal through his spine that is so intense Will considers tossing the condom to the side and letting it happen.

In the end he obeys, simply because he knows Hannibal will do it himself if he refuses, ripping open the foil to roll it down the older man’s cock. When finished, he runs his fingers from the base to the tip. Hannibal presses Will’s trousers down his hips. It takes a moment to get the fabric bunched around Will’s ankles so he has free movement and swift fingers graze across every inch of newly bared skin.

“Now you,” Hannibal whispers. Presses a finger into his mouth and has him suck at it. “I apologize; I neglected to bring proper lubrication.”

Will tries to keep up with the pace of things. Tries to make Hannibal desperate by teething at the base of the finger as he sucks at it, then biting hard, when that doesn’t get a reaction. Hannibal only smiles at him. When he judges the finger to be moist enough, he pulls it from Will’s. The wet _pop_ it makes as it leaves his lips makes him flush with embarrassment.

He’s still trying to pull himself together when the man presses the digit against his hole. He can’t help it—he jerks up and backwards. His lower back bangs against the steering wheel.

The horn sounds out throughout the car and across the street, blaring and crude in the silence.

Will is petrified. Looking around wildly as if all the lights in the various houses and apartment complexes on the street will turn on, inhabitants glaring down at them. Hannibal only chuckles, petting the skittishness out of him.

He is about to ask if they can move the seat back, away from the steering wheel, but then Hannibal winds his free arm around his waist, pulling him down tight against his chest. They kiss, all lips and tongue and teeth, as Hannibal prepares Will with his fingers. The passion and testosterone transferring between their mouths keens him, makes him buck against the finger before forcing himself to press back, going back down for more. His eyes fall closed as Hannibal nibbles at his tongue.

He would beg, if he could speak. Moans instead, feeling the swipe of wet muscle against his lower lip, as if to feel the vibrations. The fingers leave him, to latch onto his hipbone in a tight grip.

Hannibal languidly rolls Will’s hips forward, so his cock lines up with the waiting hole. Will is still tight against his chest, unable to move on his own as Hannibal slowly releases his weight so Will impales upon his cock. He can’t breath. Has to rest his forearms on his lover’s shoulders for balance, fingers curling and uncurling around the base of the neck.

“Oh— _oh_ —“ he sobs out. Because it hurts, far more than last time, with only the slide of saliva and condom. Too little alcohol to dull the pain.

Hannibal jerks suddenly, making Will bounce in his lap. The friction in his wake leaves them both moaning. Aching. It still hurts, but seeing the look of unmasked pleasure on Hannibal’s face, head-on like this, gives him a reason to begin straining his legs to pump himself up and down.

“Will, precious Will,” Hannibal endears. “I told you that you would be fine. You are _so good_.”

Sweat runs down flushed cheeks, dripping onto Hannibal utterly un-rumpled clothes. He has half a mind to shake the fabric until the seams split apart, but that would require separating his hands from Hannibal’s shoulders. A feat he knows he cannot accomplish.

So he continues on, watching for every twitch in Hannibal’s face, as the man pants through parted lips and watches through sharp eyes. One hand leaves his waist to cup his balls, then grip his cock. The pumping into his fist feels courteous to Will, more than anything. He feels, astoundingly, as if he could cum from the pounding pressure of Hannibal’s cock against his prostate alone.

When orgasm hits Will, short minutes later, semen splays up across his shirt. Luckily, it is not pricey fabric like Hannibal’s, quickly ruined by such use. Hannibal takes over the movement in his stead, tugging at his hips and pressing at the deepest crevices of his body. When he cums, Will feels the heat of it, even if he cannot feel the wetness.

They sit like that in silence for a time, Hannibal seemingly unwilling to remove himself from Will’s body and Will unwilling to move from the comfort of Hannibal’s lap. He curls his head into the space between Hannibal’s jaw and his collarbone, contenting himself in the feel of the man’s breath rushing across his hair. Tries to regain is breath. When they finally separate, it is with slow movements, resultant of Will’s already sore muscles, pained from disuse.

“We will talk tomorrow,” Hannibal says once Will has his pants back up around his hips. Will gives him a nod without look up. He’s exhausted, looking forward to the sanctuary of his bed. When he opens the car door and begins to slide out Hannibal catches him by the elbow again. Will almost feels anxious that he’s in for another round—but no, it’s just a small kiss. Quick and calming.

Hannibal is smiling at him when he pulls back and Will feels, with no small amount of surprise, that his lips are also quirked upwards. He feels legitimately happy.

A piece of paper falls into Will’s hand. He looks down to find Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s business card. 

**Author's Note:**

> Idek guys. This whole thing started as me wanting to write them flirting in a club and now I am slowly building their relationship and have the next three parts planned out. 
> 
> luvkurai.tumblr.com


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